


homo superior

by jackgyeoms



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daddy Issues, Howard and Erik are Related, Mutant Tony Stark, Tony Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3888958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackgyeoms/pseuds/jackgyeoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a week after Tony had returned from his time with the Ten Rings that the world found out that he was a mutant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I really wanted to write something with Howard and Erik being brothers, and Tony being a mutant, which is how I ended up here.
> 
> No major warnings for this chapter.
> 
> Thank you to [klaviertrash](http://klaviertrash.tumblr.com) for beta reading for me!

 

It was a week after Tony had returned from his time with the Ten Rings that the world found out that he was a mutant.

He’d been keeping himself away from the public eye, perhaps for the first time in decades, taking the time to recover, to work, to find a way to remove – and when that proved as obviously futile task, find a more permanent solution to – the shrapnel inching its way towards his heart. He’d buried himself in work, in comforts and luxuries that he had taken for granted, in the company of the people he cared about most, but that didn’t mean that his head was entirely in the sand. Pepper had told him that journalists were practically camped outside Stark Industries, knew that there was some firmly rooted outside his own home, and without anything but the officially vague statement that those in public relations had issued, they were desperate. Tony found twisted amusement in some of the stories that were being spread, at how far from and how close to the truth they were.

But this story was different. This was accurate. Terrifyingly so. Leaked information, the reporters claimed. Anonymous sources. _**Tony Stark: Mutant?**_   splattered across every newspaper and every blog, the headline of every news broadcast.

Pepper had hoped to catch it before Tony saw, but of course, that was ne’on impossible when the man had JARVIS tuned to notify him of any wind of his name and the word ‘mutant’. He stared at his tablet with a blank expression, sat forward on the armchair that had once been his father’s. He didn’t react to Pepper’s presence in the room, even though he knew that she was there. No one elses heels clicked like Pepper Potts.

“I’m handling this personally,” she informed him immediately, and as he knew it was her intent, Tony felt comforted. He thought about trying a smile, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He nodded instead.

It was Howard who insisted on the secrecy. It was the 70s, and the possibility of mutants had just become public knowledge. No one knew how to react to the knowledge that their neighbours, their grocers, their children could be _different_. That had been how his mother had said it. Maria had tried to smile wide and brave, as if she wasn’t so completely terrified of what her son could do. She held onto his shoulders with her impeccably manicured hands and told him that he was different, _but that isn’t a bad thing sweetheart, it’s not_. Perhaps in some way, Maria hoped that her words would be enough to shield her son from the harsh views of the worlds, of the views of his father, but she never repeated them to him, they had since lost their meaning.

He had an affinity for metals, for machines. He had been three when he had made the lights flicker on and off in his parent’s room until the nanny was sent to fetch him.  He was four when he had been refused television time, and had made the images leap to the screen with a mere frown. He was five when he had created a robot from his old toys and made it dance to keep him entertained on those lonely evenings. He was six when his parents couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

In a way, Tony was glad they had. If they hadn’t, he wouldn’t have met Uncle Erik and things would have been entirely different.

He snapped from the memories when Pepper said, “who else knows?”

“No one who would say anything,” Tony responded, and ran the list over in his head. Father, Mother, Aunt Peggy, Uncle Erik, Obadiah, Pepper, Rhodey, those he had studied with at Xavier's School for the Gifted. A small list that had only gotten shorter with his parents’ deaths and Aunt Peggy’s dementia settling in. Absentmindedly, he made a note to make sure Sharon could cover her medical bills.

Pepper pressed her red painted lips together, her eyebrows furrowed unhappily. She was just worried, he knew, but there was only a handful of people who he could trust and her lack of faith in them rubbed him the wrong way.

“So what do the PR nuts say we should do?” he diverted.

Pepper sighed but allowed it. “Denise says that we should come forth and make a statement, denying the accusation. Say something short and sweet and politically savvy. Nothing that will anger either side of the fence.”

Tony nodded slowly, accepting. He pressed the button on the corner of the tablet and watched the screen go back. His own face reflected back. He frowned, rubbed a hand over his jaw. He needed a trim.

Pepper didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched him. He smiled charmingly at her and asked her whether she had gotten lost in his eyes. “Don’t be ashamed,” he mock comforted, “Lots of people have”. On any other day, Pepper would have rolled her eyes. Maybe knocked him with her clipboard. Today, the creases in her face only deepened.

“We don’t have to say that you know,” she reminded him firmly, “You shouldn’t be ashamed.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Tony was quick to say. Truth was, he wasn’t 100% sure that was true. Pepper looked as if she knew that too. Tony shouldn’t be surprised. Pepper was like an extension of himself at this point.  She, alongside Rhodey, knew Tony better than he knew himself at times.

This was not one of those times.

“Release the statement,” he ordered. He didn’t let his voice waver, stood up sharply and retied his dressing gown around him. He left the room, without another word. A tad childish perhaps, he could just hear Erik’s voice chiding him for such, but today of all days, he deserved some leeway.

 

-

 

At six, Tony had known of uncles. He just hadn’t been aware that he had any. But that’s what the man before him had claimed to be, and although his father stood away, arms folded over his chest, lips angled downwards, he wasn’t disputing the claim of brotherhood with the stranger. Must be true, Tony reasoned, although that didn’t stop him from regarding the man suspiciously.

Erik, that’s what he said his name was, with an accent that Tony didn’t recognise. He wanted to ask, but thought it might not be appropriate. His eyes went to his father and back before he introduced himself.

Erik grinned at him, all his teeth on display, and in the depths of his mouth, Tony could see the glittering of gold that was almost mesmerising.

“He has our eyes,” Erik mused, glanced over his shoulder at Howard, who reluctantly agreed. “Your grandfather’s genes are very strong,” he informed Tony, who nodded in understanding.

“I haven’t met my grandfather. Daddy says that he’s dead,” Tony informed lightly.

“That’s okay,” and Erik leant forward, as if to share a secret when he said, “I haven’t met your grandfather either.”

 

-

 

Tony spent the day in his lab, ripping apart vintage cars only to reassemble them. It took moments to do one, and minutes to do the other. A simple thought, a flick of his wrist. Destroy. Create. Destroy.

It had always relaxed him. Using the power that ran through him was almost as good as the buzz of whiskey. It made him feel powerful, invincible, in control for once, and without all the horrible realisation that it was all an illusion after. He burst AC/DC and Metallica from the speakers until his blood pumped in time with the drums. A headache followed, but he ignored it. Kept working. Had to change the battery hooked to his chest once, with trembling breath and sweaty hands. Just like every time he had to so, he swore he would find something, anything, to make this better.

Tony slept on the sofa there, never bothering to make it to his bed. He always regretted sleeping in the lab, the crick in his back did nothing to help the pain in his chest. He’d have to take better care of himself, he warned, and wondered whether anyone in his family actually knew how to do that. Squinting around the mess he had left his space in, Tony asked JARVIS for the time.

“Its nine am sir,” there was a pause and, “Mr Rhodes has been in the lounge since seven.”

Tony jumped. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he complained.

“Because three hours of sleep isn’t constructive to your health,” JARVIS explained coolly, and Tony wondered whether he had programmed JARVIS so that he didn’t have to do the caring himself.

“Thanks buddy,” he muttered, and struggled into the jeans he had abandoned the night before. Breathing made everything ache, and with each step that he took towards the elevator, Tony rubbed at the scarred tissue like that would make it easier. It didn’t. When the doors opened, he pressed himself against one of the corners and pretended that he didn’t feel like death warmed over.

“Sir, your heartrate is accelerating to 110.1 beats per second,” JARVIS informed him. Tony didn’t have to be the one who designed him to hear the worried edges to the words, “May I suggest breathing exercises? Any uptake will lead to changing your battery more frequently than is advisable.”

Tony’s hand dropped from his chest and patted at the battery pack attached to his thigh. It was huge and bulky, cold even through the thick fabric of his sweatpants. It felt strange, that this is was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment. It made him feel vulnerable, a little weak, and he despised that. It made him think about the suit he had made, the one that he had used to escape. He built it in a cave, when he was terrified, when his muscles ached and his eyes burnt from fear of sleeping any more than minutes at a time. He remembered the thrill of flying, before he had crashed, the twisted satisfaction that curled in his stomach when he fired blasts from his hands, when explosions ripped those horrendous people apart.

“Sir,” JARVIS warned him again, and Tony made a show of breathing, deep and careful.

“JARVIS,” he muttered as the doors the elevator whirled open, “get the semantics for the armour up. I want to look at them when I’m back at the lab.”

“Of course sir,” was the agreed reply, and then JARVIS fell silent to allow the old friends to talk.

Rhodey stood up quickly from his place on the sofa when Tony appeared around the corner. His eyes widened just so, and he attempted to school the action before Tony noticed. It didn’t work. Tony wondered whether he looked that much worse than when Rhodey had found him in the middle of the desert all those days ago. He probably did. His hand tapped on the battery once, twice, before he forced a grin and made himself take the steps to greet his friend.

“What do I owe the pleasure?” he smiled with all the charm that he could muster for the mask that fell into place.

Rhodey’s smile was all wavered at the edges. “I saw the news reports. You think I wasn’t going to come as soon as I could?”

“They’re nothing,” Tony brushed it off, dropped into an empty space on the sofa and groaned pathetically at the tightness in his muscles.

Rhodey looked like he was going to comment on that, but didn’t. One battle at a time. “They’re not nothing. They’re kind of important. Pepper said that it came from a trusted source, someone who knows. This isn’t just someone making up a story to sell, this is someone who’s trying to hurt you.”

“Aw, you worried about little old me?” Tony teased, fluttered his eyelashes.

Rhodey didn’t even so much as roll his eyes. “I’m always worried about you Tony.”

But that’s Rhodey for you. He’s a worrier. Rhodey had the same look on his face now as he had when they first met. Tony had been thirteen and he’d sunk out from his boarding school in upstate New York to go to the city.  He’d missed the city, missed the people and the bustle of it all. The countryside, while beautiful, just couldn’t compare. He’d be trying to scale a building, get to the rooftop so he could sit and enjoy it all before he was found. Shimming up a drainpipe had sounded like fun. It just happened to be the Rhodes’ family home that he chose.

“What are you doing?” fourteen year old James had asked, leaning out of his window.

Tony paused only for a second to look up at him. “Climbing.”

“You’re going to get hurt,” James lectured. Tony rolled his eyes and denied it.

“Why are you climbing up my house anyways?” he’d questioned, and Tony responded with, “I want to see the city better.”

James pressed his lips into an unimpressed look. “You could have just knocked.”

Tony didn’t get to see the city as well as he had wanted to, but he spent the rest of the afternoon playing video games in Rhodey’s – Tony declared him such, “It’s a much better name than James,” he had decided – bedroom, and when Logan showed up with a cigar handing out his mouth, and an unimpressed angle to his eyebrows, Tony had promised to come back to visit, even if just for Mama Rhodes’ lamb curry. (To this day, Tony would still claim that to be his weakness, and Mama Rhodes would beam and pinch his cheeks affectionately).

Tony snapped from his memories with a shake of his head. The dent between Rhodey’s eyebrows had deepened. “You don’t have to,” he replied, knowing that it was seconds too late.

“Tough luck,” Rhodey quipped back and squeezed his shoulder. Even though it irritated him, he appreciate the sentiment. “Papers this morning had a statement from Stark Industries saying that it’s just a rumour created by competitors to ensure the loss of half of your investors.”

Tony hummed. “People buying it?”

“It’s about fifty-fifty,” Rhodey admitted, and then after a pause added, “You should tell them. There’s no reason to keep it a secret right? Times have changed.”

“Not enough,” Tony echoed words that weren’t his own with a sad and twisted smile.

Rhodey returned it with one of his own.

 

-

 

_“You got a family?”_ His own voice sounds so far away, distinct in the heaviness of the air around him. There is nothing to see only blurs of colours and lights that mean nothing, that do nothing except exist.

_“Yes,”_ the word drawls out, closer than his own, like hot breath against his ears. He sees the flesh of leathered skin, of glasses and the smile that only those who know so much can pull off. The words continue, _“And I will see them when I leave here.”_

But he knows that’s not true. Can feel it with every fibre of his being. He will not see them. He will not leave. The smile cracks and blood pools. Ragged breaths against Tony’s ears seem to make his eardrums burst, the pain is so intense but it never stops. Will never stop.

_“And you, Stark?”_ he can make that out just barely over everything.

His mouth moves of its own accord. _“Yes.”_ He doesn’t elaborate, has become so used to the quiet and the secrets that he doesn't even feel the need to share, doesn’t feel guilty for not doing so. But the blood is crawling towards him, climbs him, wrapped and stings, burns the skin that it touches, bruises his throat and his wrists, his ankles, his stomach. Constricts around him until he can’t breathe, and reaches for his chest. He attempts to struggle, attempts to scream, but nothing. No movement. No sound. The blood touches him and blackens as if poisoned. Perhaps it is.

It doesn’t deter. It forces itself in, fills up his chest cavity. Fills his lungs with liquid that makes him gargle each breath. Wraps around each rib until they crack and splinter. Wraps around his heart and squeezes until his body spasms. He feels vessels burst in his eyes, clouding his vision red. He feels his nose burning, feels his tongue gain weight until it feels like the pressure is going to make his jaw unhinge. It doesn’t though. It’s like a promise that can never be kept.

Sad and bitter smiles. _“So you truly are a man that has everything, Mr Stark.”_

Tony awoke with a scream. He didn’t sound like his own, but the hoarseness of his throat told him otherwise. He forced the noise to stop, snapping his jaw and clamping tightly. His fingers knot in the sheets below him, as if that will keep him grounded, and in a way it does. The softness of the mattress, the sweat soaked into the fabrics, it reminds him that he’s _here_ and not _there_.

When his hearing returns to him, he can hear JARVIS’ rapid speech informing him of body functionary and reassuring him it was only a nightmare. Tony laughed at that. He wished it was only that.

“Do you want me to place a call?” JARVIS inquired carefully, perhaps already knowing what the answer will be.

Tony shook his head. “No. I’m…I’m good buddy, I’m good.”

“Sir,” JARVIS started to complain.

“I said I’m fine, JARVIS, don’t make me mute you,” he threatened, and felt immediately terrible when JARVIS stayed quiet. He muttered an apology, and closed his eyes briefly. They burnt with exhaustion but there was no chance of sleep tonight. When he opened them again, he asked quietly for the time.

“It’s 4am sir.” Five hours sleep. Better than the night before. Good.

Tony reached blindly for his phone, something that had been shoved inside his bedside table the minute that he had gotten the thing replaced. He wasn’t ready to speak to the world just yet, but now, he would rather do that than attempt sleep.

**QUICKIE [SENT 5:24AM, ONE WEEK AGO]:** The news says you’re back!!!! Are you okay????#?

**QUICKIE [SENT 5:26AM, ONE WEEK AGO]:** ??!!!???!!!??

**QUICKIE [SENT 5:30AM, ONE WEEK AGO]:** alright I’m running over!

**QUICKIE [SENT 5:31AM, ONE WEEK AGO]:** so I’m not allowed to run over

**MINDMELT [SENT 5:33AM, ONE WEEK AGO]:** I stopped Pietro. You’re welcome.

**MINDMELT [SENT 6:00AM, ONE WEEK AGO]:** Pay me back the favour and tell me that you’re in one piece.

**MINDMELT [SENT 7:00AM, FIVE DAYS AGO]:** I don’t like the fact that I have to hear from your assistant rather than you. Just stay safe. Get better. Do as the doctor’s tell you.

**QUICKIE [SENT 7:13AM, FIVE DAYS AGO]:** want me to spring you?

**LIAH [SENT 7:15AM, FIVE DAYS AGO]:** do not let Pietro take you from that hospital Tony I swear to god, don’t make me tie you down. You know that I would.

**LIAH [SENT 7:50AM, FIVE DAYS AGO]:** your cousins are worried. I’m worried. Answer your goddamn messages, okay?

**MINDMELT [SENT 8:34AM, FIVE DAYS AGO]:** dad said that we have to wait for you want to want to talk to us. He’s probably right.  He knows you better. Just drop Pietro a call, okay, you know he worries about you.

**QUICKIE [SENT 11:25AM, FOUR DAYS AGO]:** im going to stock up on those m &ms you like for when you visit

**QUICKIE [SENT 4:02PM, FOUR DAYS AGO]:** I have eaten all the m &ms

Tony didn’t bother suppressing a snort, something that seemed to pierce the silence of the room. He had forgotten what it felt like to be surrounded by them, by the strange quirks of his family. He had spent so much time in that cave, he hadn’t thought about what it must have been like for them, waiting for, not knowing. Not knowing is always the worst part. He’ll visit soon, he decided, when he had the solution to…

His hand went to his chest, felt around the edges of the makeshift life support and swallowed around the pang of anxiety. The edges of the nightmare crept back towards him, made his fingers shake ever so slightly, and he knew he would never truly escape the darkness there, not with the hole in his chest. The evidence that it was real, so persistent in reminding Tony of its presence.

Tony looked to his phone again. There were more messages, a ton from Pietro and Wanda, a little less from Liah. A handful from Storm. A few from Kitty and Bobby and Kurt. One from Logan that just read, ‘Knew you wouldn’t die kid’. Tony wasn’t sure what he expected from him. They reminded him that people cared, but it wasn’t enough to distract, wasn’t enough to remove the feeling of itchy skin or the want to never sleep again. He let the screen of his phone go blank and held it to his chest protectively.

No, the messages wouldn’t solve this, but he had an idea what might.

 

-

 

“We’ll find out who did this,” was the first thing that Obadiah Stane said when Tony entered his office. It was the first time he’d made the venture from his home to Stark Industries since before he had been taken. Pepper had been dropping off paperwork and watching him like a hawk to make sure it was actually completed (also, in Tony’s opinion, watching over him made her feel better, knowing that he was there, and he was grateful for her company). He’d needed to get out eventually though, and this was something that he wanted to do in person.

Stark Industries had only been shifted over into Tony’s control in the last five years. Before that, after his father died, it had been Obie’s to protect. Tony hadn’t minded, had appreciated those extra years of freedom before he had taken control. He had never wanted the company, to be the CEO but he wasn’t dumb enough not to appreciate that it was this company that had given him the amount of privilege that he had now. Things that his parents, this uncle, hadn’t always had.

In another world, he and Obie might have been close. He could see the man as being another of his father, with more smiles, with more attention, with nicer words. In another world, he might have needed that. But, in this world, Tony had respect for Stane if nothing else, and when the man clapped his hands on Tony’s shoulders, a version of an embrace, Tony accepted it with a smile.

“How have you been? Good?” Obie questioned, and Tony had barely nodded when he exclaimed, “Excellent! The workers will be pleased to hear so. We’ve all been worried about you, of course.”

“Of course,” Tony echoed back, although he wasn’t entirely sure whether he believed it.

“Work was down 4% while you were gone, did Ms Potts tell you?” Obie continued, “4%! Figures have never dropped so low, not even when your mother and father past – God rest their souls – so you can imagine my shock. 4%! But with your safe return, numbers are higher than ever before. Perhaps you should find yourself kidnapped more often.”

It was joke. Tony knew that, but in poor taste, and he struggled to laugh along with it. Quick to divert the subject away from that particular point, he spoke hurriedly, "I have something important I wish to discuss with you.”

Obie clasped his hands together. “Strange. I was about to say the same thing to you. Tell me Tony, have you figured out a solution for your,” his eyes flickered downwards, to Tony’s chest but didn’t finish.

Tony’s jaw clenched for a moment. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Excellent, because I think I’ve found what you're looking for,” he announced, stood up quickly from his leather chair and gestured Tony after him.

The journey to the basement was long and taken in silence. Tony had never been there before. The basement was mostly filled with labs, engineering platforms. Tony had one of those himself in his home, and if there was anything that needed to be discussed, skype was a wonderful thing. It’s a shame he hadn’t thought of it first.  They were a lot busier than he had ever seen, but then he supposed that was to be expected. He tried to focus on that, the people, the noises, and not the promise for something that could fix him.

“You’re father invented it,” Obie casted the explanation over his shoulder, “It’s supposed to be used for the next generation of warfare, but he hadn’t never been able to get it to work. Not efficiently enough.”

“The arc reactor,” Tony recalled, remembered the words from plans long ago, remembered his father’s frustrated expression. “It powers Stark Tower.”

“Yes,” Obie nodded, “But it could be so much more, with the right mind put to it.”

“What makes you think I’m the right mind?” Tony wondered.

“Because you are your father’s son,” Obie reminded him. Tony remembered Erik saying such words to him long ago.

The room opened up into a circular space. There was a walking platform, around a glass enclosed machine and inside that, was something that Tony had never seen before. Metal casings and filaments and sparks of electricity that whirled so fast that it appeared blue. Tony walked mesmerised towards it, gripped the banister when he was close enough, and felt the metals sing to him. He could see the way it fit together in faint outlines before his eyes, could see how easily it would be to break apart.

“Electromagnets,” he murmured. How hadn’t he thought of this before? His hand wrapped around the bottom of the hidden battery and he swallowed around the thick emotion that told him he was going to live.

Beside him, Obie hummed. “Could do the trick, yes?”

“Yes,” Tony croaked out.

“I’ll send the blueprints to your office,” Obie sounded explicitly pleased with himself. “And while you’re there, perhaps you can find the solutions that your father couldn’t. These would be weapons that our buyers would pay millions for.”

Those words brought Tony back to the room. His fingers flexed nervously, once, three times, around the bannister before he turned to face Stane. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Obie arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

And then he made the announcement that would change everything. “From now on, Stark Industries is getting out of the weapon making business.”

 

-

 

“’Stark drops the bomb on the bombs’,” was quipped down the phone, “A rather wonderful headline. Witty even.”

“It’s better than the ones from their last story, although I’m not sure Staine would agree. Obie seems to think that he can convince me out of this,” Tony stated.

“Can he?”

“No.” Tony answered honestly, paused and then added, “You didn’t call.”

“With you, I have come to realise that it’s better to wait for you to come to me. You’re far more agreeable that way,” he responded, his voice droll.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks Uncle Erik.”

“Are you denying it?”

“As if you would let me.” Tony tried a laugh, but didn’t succeed. “Someone told the press.”

“Perhaps someone just a made a guess. There wasn’t any details.”

“No, I know. I don’t want to believe it but I know. Someone told.”

“Most likely,” Erik agreed.

“Was it you?” Tony had to ask.

“Do you think it’s me?”

“No.”

“Good. I thought I taught you better than this. This wasn’t done as a kindness, this was done to cause you pain. We’ve had this discussion many times. I would never.”

“And I believe that, but it means that someone I care about is trying to hurt me.”

Erik sighed. “Hardly a more fitting alternative. Charles has offered to look for the culprit, if you are willing.”

“What other choice do I have?” Tony muttered lowly, scrubbed a hand over his face. “Many” Erik would say but things are different for the two of them.

There was a long moment of silence, where both listened to the other breathe, before Erik spoke once more, “Charles also has another offer for you, regarding the events with in Afghanistan.”

Tony’s chest tightened and breathing was difficult for a moment. Erik didn’t know the full extent of what happened, only the titbits that Pepper had told him, which was even less than what Tony had told her. Rhodey was the only one who knew. Perhaps Charles would know, but he trusted the man a lot more than he thought he would, and his old headmaster would never dip into his mind for such information. Not without permission. Which is what was being asked for. “The Professor isn’t a therapist.”

“No, but he can just as good as one,” Erik reminded, and Tony knew that to be true. He didn’t say anything though, so his uncle continued, “Charles believes it’s wise for you to speak to someone and I’m inclined to agree. Do you wish for me to pull the ‘I’m your family and I have concern for you’ card?”

“If I said no, wouldn’t you just use it anyways?” Tony grouched.

Erik hummed, pondering. “Perhaps,” he confessed, and didn’t seem sorry about it. “Ms Potts says that you’ve been having nightmares.”

“Well, you, Pepper and JARVIS gossip like old maids,” Tony responded, and glared to his ceiling. The AI remained suspiciously silent, and Tony supposed that’s because JARVIS thought he was right.

“Should I tell Charles to expect a visitor?” Erik continued coolly.

Tony sighed in defeat and glanced to the semantics for arc reactor technology that was still blinking upon the screen. He had been scouring them for days now, knew the theory inside and out. Now, he just had to build the thing. He’d never attempted something so complicated before, and not something as important as this. The arc reactor would either save him, or kill him. _But_ , he thought, looking at the gap in his chest, at the battery, at the wiring, _aren’t I already dying?_

“Next week,” Tony told him finally, “I’ll get to the manor next week. There is something I need to do first.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arc reactor is installed, and Tony visits his boarding school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many apologises for the long wait between chapters! I had intended to have the chapter posted as planned, but university life and exams got in the way of my free time, and also that of my betas, so the date had to be extended! Hope it was worth the wait! :)
> 
> warnings in the end notes

 

** TONY STARK: MUTANT? **

**By Philip Sheldon**

_Tony Stark is no stranger to news headlines. From the times in his youth when he was the celebrated prodigy to his wild and reckless youth and his multimillion dollar company, there is always a story about Tony Stark. Just recently, his disappearance and sequential recovery has been covered worldwide. This, however, is a different type of story._

_A tip from an anonymous source has brought to attention one secret that Mr Stark has kept away from the public eye – his mutation._

**_For more information, turn to page 45_ **

-

“Your father says that you have a gift,” Erik marked the question as a statement. It made Tony want to freeze, knew that he probably did, and his eyes skated back towards Howard, silent and imposing in the background. He was turned away, but Tony could see the frown that marred his father’s face. When Tony looked up back towards Erik, he didn’t say anything.

The man wasn’t to be deterred though. “From what I gather you must be pretty powerful,” he mused.

“Powerful?” Tony echoed back, wondering.

“Hmm, I didn’t know I was special until I was at least ten,” Erik informed.

Tony spoke again, his voice a little stronger, “Special.”

Erik hummed. “Yes Tony, special. After all, can just anybody do this?”

And when the metal beams that added to the aesthetic of the building moved, grinded and moaning at the pull away from the wall; when Howard yelped and cursed and demanded that _Erik, stop, fucking hell_ ; when Erik smirked and told him that one day, he’d be able to do the same, all Tony could do was stare.

“Whoa,” he mouthed the words. The pillars had stopped above his head, and he hesitantly reached up to touch them. The familiar cold of iron. Tony dropped his hands quickly.

“You shouldn’t be afraid,” Erik attempted to soothe. “It’s quite safe.”

“I thought it’ll be hot, it’s not,” Tony confessed. His hand rose up once more.

“Lehnsherr,” Howard interrupted harshly. Tony’s hand stopped, inches from touching, and indecision crossed his face. Erik’s lips pressed together unhappily. Howard continued, either oblivious or just pretending to be. “You’ll put that back.”

“Of course,” Erik replied coolly. “Although I think Tony should do it.”

Tony’s eyes went wide. The kind that meant awe and wonderment, astonishment at being trusted with something so big, but Erik felt it was more than that. He’d expected it, when he’d gotten the call from Howard, his estranged brother who’s existence neither truly bothered to acknowledge, when the man had carefully stepped around worlds that would cause his brother anger.

Tony opened his mouth, but was interrupted with Howard’s sharp words, “No, I think you should do it. Anthony doesn’t need to clean up your messes.”

The child’s mouth closed slowly, and not even the demonstration of the metal pillars realigning with walls – slightly cracked – could bring the boy’s wonder back.

-

Pepper didn’t doubt that she looked horrified. Understandable, really. Who wouldn’t be? This hadn’t been what she expected when she had been granted access to the lab. She knew that Tony had found a possible replacement for the battery, perhaps a permeant solution to sustain his life. She knew that he had been researching and building and breaking – she’d walked in a few times on that one herself, so she was expecting something similar. Tony laid out flat on a makeshift medicine gurney with Dahlia Griffiths hovering over him was not one of them.

Tony rose a hand to wave, “Hey.”

“What,” she said, and didn’t even bother finishing. They knew what she meant.

“I’m getting the arc reactor fitted, wanna check it out?” he told her eagerly, gestured towards his desk, and the object that sat carefully on a metal tray (for sterilization, Pepper realised). Truthfully, she was tempted to get a closer look at the device, functional and in person, but the reality of what was happening kept her rooted to the spot. Her hands crumbled documents at the edges.

“Shouldn’t you be at a hospital for this?” she inquired. Her eyes darted to Dahlia and continued, “Why would you agree to this?”

“It was either I do it, or he do it himself,” Dahlia admitted, her eyes only briefly straying from where her hands, gloved, were pressing something – Pepper didn’t want to think what – into Tony’s chest cavity. “At least this way, I can make sure he doesn’t kill himself in the process.”

Her voice was tinged with contempt, and Pepper could understand the feeling. Her eyes returned to Tony and pressed her lips together into a thin line. “There are professionals for these kinds of things, you know.”

“Dee’s a biologist,” Tony pointed out, as if that somehow made it all okay.

Pepper replied, slightly hysterical, “Not the same thing as a doctor.”

“That’s what I told him,” Dahlia interjected without lifting her gaze. She pressed and Tony flinched, and then stilled. She paused, asked, “Any pinching?”

“Nope, just – cold,” he finished lamely.

Dahlia eyed him critically, and nodded once when satisfied. She patted Tony on the stomach familiarly. She said, “Okay, so the base in in place. I just need to connect the wires and make sure the reactor sits right, but you need to be as still as you can possibly be, okay? I’m not going to be the one responsible for frying your heart because you’re a stubborn son of a bitch.”

Tony forced an innocent look on his face and lifted a hand in a three finger salute. Pepper fought the urge to point out that Tony was never in the Scouts so technically, that meant nothing. Instead, she hopped- a little anxious- from foot to foot, and tried to decide whether she wanted to look or not. When Dahlia reached for the arc reactor, and the wires fell in the gap between her palms, she decided no, she really didn’t. She turned her gaze determinately to the left, and glared at a space on the floor with all the intensity in the world.

“So, Pep, what brings you here?” Tony asked conversationally, as if what was happening _wasn’t_ happening.

Pepper sighed heavily through her nose before answering. “You had a board of directors meeting this morning. You didn’t turn up.” She paused and then added, “They were discussing the future changes to the company.”

“Oh?” Tony attempted to sound nonchalant and failed.

“Stane isn’t happy about it Tony, and he’s attempting to get a lot of people on his side,” Pepper reminded, “He might succeed. He might figure out how to take this company away from under you.”

“That won’t happen,” Tony stated, and Pepper wanted to scream at him. It was done in that voice, the one that Pepper had come to learn meant that he was arrogant in his confidence and wouldn’t believe otherwise. It was good at times, it meant that Pepper didn’t doubt that he could sway the board his way, but this was _Obadiah Stane_. He had helped Howard raise the company to the point of legacy that it was at now. He had run the company in Tony’s absence after Howard had died. People would remember those things.

“It could happen,” she persisted firmly. “Even if you sign for the official change over, there’s always a chance.”

Tony seemed to perk up. “Legal department finally finished those – ouch!”

Dahlia glared him down, her nails pressing into the soft skin of his stomach. A warning. “Sit still,” she ordered. She looked up at Pepper to tell her, “No business talk.”

Pepper murmured an apology and held down on her words. It would wait until later. She snuck a glance back.

Tony had sighed heavily, overdramatically and tension dropped from his shoulders. He pouted and eyed Dahlia with narrowed eyes. “I should have asked the Professor,” Tony retorted.

“Then you should put disability access in your lab,” she quipped back immediately.

Pepper stifled a sigh and despite everything, she found herself smiling.

-

Even after all those years, the stretch of road between New York City and Upstate New York was nothing but familiar to him. Tony had been nearly ten when he first made the journey, pressing against the window of his uncle’s car to watch the scenery sail past him. Back then, the promise of where he was going, of what he would find there, was like air in his chest, keeping him light and afloat.

He was pleased to say that Xavier’s School for Gifted Youths was everything it had been said to be.

Tony drove himself, despite Happy’s insistence in doing the job himself. Happy was a good man, someone he trusted, but this place, that world, was something that he wanted to keep to himself a little while longer. He took one of the less conspicuous cars, something dark with tinted windows but ultimately just the same as everyone else. One foot shifted awkwardly on the accelerator and his hand tapped a beat off time with ‘The Immigrant Song’ blasting through his speakers.

Nerves. Excitement. It had been too long since he had been back there. It felt like a distant dream, in fact, and Tony wished he hadn’t let it become that.

He’d told Erik that he was going to make the journey that morning. The man had accepted this and told him that he would inform the others. The exclamation marks and hashtags that he received from Pietro confirmed that. Tony thought of the message and smiled, and told himself that he would never wait so long to contact his cousins again.

Tony had been nearly eighteen when they had been born. Little Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. He’d never met Magda personally before, had barely even heard of her in passing, and Erik seemed unwilling to speak of her. Even now, he couldn’t be sure what had happened to her. The twins said that she was dead. He would have to take their word on that one. He remembered being surprised when Erik had called his office – something that he rarely did – and informed him in a tired, and oddly awed voice that he was now a father. Erik hadn’t even told him that he was expecting to be. He got a picture the next time he visited the school, two cubby little bronze babies – ones that he didn’t get to meet in person until they were three, and Erik was their sole guardian.

Things had been hard for them, Tony knew, just as he knew that his uncle wasn’t 100% equipped to be a parent. Runs in the family, he supposed wirily. But they were family, so Tony had tried. Tried to be care, tried to be there when their father could not. He gave advice that he wished his own father had given him, and wiped away tears that made him uncomfortable because he knew no one else would. They had each other, but they also had him.

He shouldn’t have kept out of contact with them.

Tony sent Pietro back two birthday cakes and a peace hand.

He got a poo emoji in return.

Strangely, that had made him feel lighter.

When the tops of the school appeared over the horizon, tension dripped from his shoulders. He felt the brush against his mind, Jean’s – her felt different from the Professor’s – and brushed back with a brief _hello_.

‘ _It’s been too long_ ,’ she touched back.

Tony reached the gates, and waited for a split second before they began to creak open. Just beyond the gap in the gates, Pietro flashed in appearance. He was grinning like a loon, shifting from one foot to the other in impatience. Tony was half tempted to take it as a leisurely stroll, just to torment him, but he couldn’t do that to either of them. The car rounded the garden piece – in the shape of the X men symbol, of course – and pulled to a stop.

Pietro was on him as soon as he got out of the car. Arms wrapped around him, and the smell of wind invaded his senses. Tony bent back a little under the added weight, but didn’t buckle. He laughed, let himself return the hug and said, “What, you miss me or something?”

“Shut up,” Pietro complained against his jacket.

Tony didn’t muffle his laugh, but he at least pretended he did. Over the mass of silver hair, Tony saw Wanda jump two steps to get to him. “Mindmelt,” he greeted, “You got taller.”

“Tony,” she greeted, swung an arm gracefully over his shoulder and hugged him, despite her brother. “You got older.”

“Ooh,” he mock winced, “I’ll have you know that no matter my age, I always look great.”

Wanda nodded and pretended to look agreeable to what he had said. His lips twitched into a smirk. Sarcastic little shit. Like him. He wondered whether he should feel proud or not. He decided on yes, and dropped a kiss to her forehead.

Wanda’s facial expression softened, opened, and said, “We’re glad you’re okay. Don’t do that again.”

Tony didn’t know whether she meant the kidnapping, or the lack of contact. Maybe she meant both. He promised anyways.

Pietro pulled away from the hug with the gentle insistence of his sister. He looked a little flushed in the cheeks, and his eyebrows were aligned downwards. He didn’t look Tony in the eye, instead stared out across the lawn. Wanda gave Tony a look, one that meant considerably more than either of them would say.

He clapped Pietro on the shoulder, squeezed and muttered, “I’m okay slick, I promise. 100%. Could go for a run – please don’t take me up that,” he added quickly.

Pietro’s lips quirked upwards. Just a slight, the barest of ticks, but it didn’t need to be anything more. “I’ll settle for Mario Kart,” he informed Tony lowly.

“What, you hankering to get beat again?” Tony’s grinned widened when Pietro squawked.

“I didn’t get beat,” he insisted, an age old argument that felt like they were back before and none of this had ever happened. “You cheated.”

“As if I would ever,” he pressed his hand to his chest, mock offended, mouth open and eyes wide behind his glasses. “That’s dirty and underhanded and I don’t need to use such things when you have pure talent.”

Wanda sniggered behind her hand. Pietro opened his mouth ready to argue, and then slammed it back shut with a click of teeth when, behind them, a familiar clearing of throat was heard. Erik stood on the steps to the school, designer collar laid perfectly upon his collarbone, and hands folded behind his back. Pietro’s expression schooled, and Tony shot Erik a look. It was one that he had grown used to pulling, and one that Erik hardly ever concerned himself with.

“I’m glad to see you’re in good health Tony,” Erik greeted. His eyes flickered down to Tony’s chest, to the glow of light that nothing seemed to block out. “You made it yourself?”

“With dad’s help, but yeah,” Tony nodded.

Erik quirked a smile. It looked like Pietro’s. “Very good.”

Tony tried not to let his swell too much under the approval. Instead, he smiled cockily and said, “Well, I am a genius.”

“And you never let us forget it,” Wanda rolled her eyes and hip checked him.

“I’m here to escort you to Charles’ office,” Erik informed.

“What, do think I can do the merciless trek myself?” Tony quipped back.

Erik’s smile was faint. “No. I just want to ensure you actually make the trek.”

Of course. He would do as he promised, but there was no point in denying that he would put it off for as long as possible. Finding out who had leaked the truth was one thing. Having to relive his nightmares before nightfall was another. Tony was sure that the draining he felt showed on his face, made obvious by the sudden tightness in Erik’s eyes and the flash of concern in Wanda’s eyes.

“Does it have to be now?” Pietro questioned. “He just got here.”

“Better now than later,” Erik told him.  Pietro frowned unconvinced, looked like he wanted to argue it.

Tony stopped him with a ruffle of his hair. “Get the game set up. You won’t get out of this one that easily.” It was a deflecting, he knew. They knew it too. They were just too kind to say anything. Tony unwrapped himself from the twins, and turned his attention to his uncle. He spread his arms and plastered a fake smile to his face. “Lead the way.”

-

The Professor’s office was one of those places that filled him with both pleasure and trepidation. It reminded him of fresh starts and candy, just as much it reminded him of detentions and disappointed looks. The Professor should paten those. Just like the rest of the school, it had memories that Tony regretted not revising as much as he should. Now though, it was just like a funeral march because he knew, beyond those doors, was something that he didn’t want to face.

Erik didn’t follow him in. Tony was grateful for that. He gave him a short nod, something that Tony thought was supposed to be comforting. Tony returned it, tried to smile. He hesitated just for a second outside the doors before he forced himself to knock. He watched for the call to enter, and did so, shutting the door with a click behind him.

The office hadn’t changed. It was still lined with leather bound books, first editions – the majority of which Charles himself, Hank McCoy or Moira MacTaggart had written, but Tony caught his own name in there and thought to the last set of papers he’d had published, back when he was in college, and felt touched that the Professor would keep such a thing. The man himself sat at the large wooden desk at the other side of the room, and beamed at him when he entered.

“Tony,” he greeted, and the chair wheeled him closer.

“Professor,” Tony greeted, and fiddled with the ring on his finger.

There was a gesture to one of the chairs, and Tony slide into it. He sunk into the cushion too easily, and squinted at his knees, pressed together, suspiciously.  Yeah. It was exactly like grade school.

“How have you been?” Charles questioned, “The arc reactor holding?”

“Did you just,” he made a vague gesture towards his head and got the response of, “No, Miss Griffiths told me. She did some reading, and needed some extra input. A rather remarkable invention.”

“Starks are remarkable people,” he replied, and the Professor made a noise that, while a little amused, seemed to be in agreement.

“And you made it with your abilities, yes?”

“Dee tell you that too?” Tony quipped.

Charles only smiled. “You always were talented with your abilities, in a way that even your uncle is not.”

“I’m telling Erik,” Tony replied automatically. It was teasing and delaying the inevitable. He shifted for a few seconds, the fabric of his trouser legs pulling upon from his ankles. He blurted, “Not that I don’t appreciate the small talk Professor but can we just, you know, get on with this? I’ve got a title as Mario Kart King to defend.”

“If you wish,” Charles nodded once, his soft expression never wavering. It was a skill that not many people Tony had encountered could accomplish, something that left you feeling a great amount of respect and safety. Tony wasn’t ashamed to admit that it did the same thing to him as it did to him as a child. “How would you wish to start?”

Tony fidgeted, stilled and sighed out, “At the age of six, I was born without a face.”

Charles’ expression dropped to disapproving. “Tony.”

Tony smiled, wide and charming. “It was very traumatic for me, Professor.”

“I imagine, but let’s start from after your father grafted a functional face to help you adjust in society, and that day in Afghanistan,” the Professor informed dryly.

“Way to belittle my struggle Professor,” he winced, the joke slipping out in defence of the realness without him thinking.

There was a pause and then the Professor said, tentatively, “You do not need to speak about it, Tony, if you do not wish to.”

Tony hesitated and thought about it. The idea of letting someone else into his mind had always terrified him. The Professor had always understood this, had helped Tony build his walls – the barrier that acted as a determinate for mind readers to take any step further – when asked if it were possible. He was good at talking, amazing at it, could hide the truth and let convincing lies spill from his lips with ease. It was like a secondary mutant power sometimes. But this also meant that he was good at hiding.  With his parents, with employees, with the world, he was the only one that could decide what they would know about him. And this, this darkness, it wasn’t something for anyone but him. He could feel his throat close up at the thought of voicing them to their fullest extent.

It was stupid really, but some part of him, even knowing that it wouldn’t work, was convinced that by speaking it aloud, it only made it more real. Like the darkness that plagued his dreams were non-existent. There was a reason why Erik asked him to do this. Perhaps because he understood himself – Erik never kept it a secret about what he had lived through, about what he had done, and just the little he had learnt during his schooling was enough to know that he didn’t want his uncle to speak about it.

The Professor was still watching him, silent and patient in his waiting. For a moment, Tony wondered how long he could keep him like that.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tony muttered finally, “I just want it to go away.”

“It?”

“It’s not just memories,” he struggled to explain, “It’s fears and what ifs and truths. I…I’m not sleeping very well.”

“We all have darkness Tony,” the Professor murmured back, “Things that we don’t want to think about. But these things will conquer us unless we find a way to accept them as part of ourselves, but not what makes us who we are.”

Tony blinked and suddenly it was as if all the tiredness of the week had caught up to him. He scrubbed a hand over his face and snorted in derision. “Easier said than done.”

“I know, dear boy, I know,” Charles agreed.

“There’s gotta be something. Some quick solution that doesn’t,” Tony cut himself off with a frustrated noise. Desperate, that’s how he sounded. Desperate and scared. He didn’t want to admit that he was both of those things.

Charles paused, considering and then said uncertainly, “I can lock those times away from you, but I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s not a permeant solution. Eventually, the barrier will wear and they will come back. You will need to face what happened to you eventually.”

He knew that. He did. It shouldn’t be so difficult to do. “I just want to sleep,” Tony told him. He added, “I don’t want to relive it.”

“But you do every night,” the Professor reminded him gently, his smile encouraging, “Let me help you Tony. Let me _really_ help you.”

Tony knew what his answer was going to be. He did.  He just wanted a few more moments. He didn’t say anything, but he gripped the arms of the chair, digging his hand into the plush. He met his ex-principal’s gaze and nodded once, sharply. Charles looked at him, pleased and relieved. It told Tony that he had made the right choice, even when he didn’t feel like it.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll be right there with you,” Charles promised, one hand laying over Tony’s as the other rose to his temple.

Tony locked his jaw tight, and managed to force one last shuddering breath before he felt his barrier crumble, and he plunged into the depths.

-

Tony exhaled and shook.

He jerked in an attempt to sit up, and metal clanged, pulled taunt and kept him in place. The sound was sharp, pierced his chest, and the cold press of handcuffs against his wrists was searing. Above him, there was only endless darkness. He knew there was a ceiling up there, the top of the rocky cavern in the series of renovated tunnels that had become a base for the Ten Rings, but with only the dim light that barely did anything at all, the world was just faded to black.

He flicked his tongue across his bottom lip, mouth dry and doing nothing to ease the ache that set there. He struggled to breathe for a moment, air caught in his lungs and refusing to escape, refusing to let himself breathe in any of the fumes around him – because there were fumes around him. He didn’t know that yet but he would.

His vision spotted, his hands gripped the rungs of the bed. He needed to get out, needed, needed, oh fuck.

A voice, ethereal and not there, hadn’t been before, but now, hushed him softly in the wind. Tony hit his head against the headrest, startled. There was no pain. When the voice spoke again, it was clearer, closer, but Tony couldn’t see the speaker. Perhaps he was in the shadows. Tony squinted towards it, searching in vain for an outline to announce a figure, but nothing.

“Tony,” the voice murmured. It was soft, gentle, comforting, and so completely out of place in this world. “Tony. It’s okay. You’re not alone. Breathe for me, okay, breathe.”

As if the command was what he needed, he released what he was holding with a sob that he could barely contain and shudder through the following pants. Hum encouraged him through it.

“Good, good, that’s good. Keep breathing. You can do it.”

The voice was so sure, Tony almost believed it.

“Okay, now I need you to tell me where you are. Where are you?”

Tony’s voice was hoarse and unrecognisable to his ears when he rasped to the disembodied presence. “Caves. Underground. A-afghanistan. I think, maybe over the border. I don’t –“ he tried to remember. He knew, because Rhodey had told him, but how could he know if –

The voice stopped him before he became too lost in his own hysteria. “Are you there alone?”

“Wha – I – yes, I mean, no, I’m,” Tony’s eyebrows furrowed, and he thought. “No, there was someone else. Someone…”

“ _Keep still, you don’t want to knock that out of place_ ,” another voice, matter of fact and rough but soft in his instructions. Tony reared his head to the right then, because he knew the owner was there. Where there had been nothing, the man now sat crouched, on his dirtied knees, and watching him with sad eyes behind his spectacles.

“Knock what? Who are you?” Tony echoed words that he knew of by heart, but couldn’t remember why he did.

“ _Yinsen. That’s what you shall call me_ ,” The man informed carefully. Hollow eyes flickered down towards his chest and up again. “ _It seems our captors were not as careful in their collection of you as they were for me. You were almost dead. They asked me to save you._ ”

‘Asked’. Not the right word, but strangely, it added a sense of normalcy to the situation.

Tony breathed again, and suddenly, he could feel the openness of his chest a thousand times stronger than it had ever been. He could feel the lines and lines of wires spilling from his chest, and when he turned his head to the left, there was the car battery that had been his life support for so long. It both relieved and terrified him.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words lodged in this throat, and closing his eyes only made the tears well and spill over like hot tar on his cheeks. What he wanted to say played in his mind – “You should have let me die” – and the man in the darkness replied as if he had heard.

_“There are people who would want that. I might even get a medal.”_

“So why didn’t you?”

“ _Because deaths are not cause for celebration. I will not add to the death toll._ ”

“Shhh,” the voice returned and everything felt airy again. The figure still sat, but it was encroached with more darkness. The hole in his chest felt as if it were gone, and Tony couldn’t angle his head properly to check. He gritted his teeth in frustration. “Tony, shhh, come back to me. Who else is there with you?”

“Yinsen,” Tony finally croaked the answer. The words sounded flat to his own ears.

“And what happened to Yinsen, Tony?”

He looked to the other man, as the outlines became more real. As colour filled in and faded to grey. As red pooled from his neck, stained his clothes, splattered against his glasses. Finally, Tony answered: “He’s dead.”

He slammed the mental barrier back up and Charles withdrew immediately, forcing Tony away from there and back into the office. He’d dug his his nails through the cushion of the chair. He used the hold to brace himself as he trembled and sweated and breathed. Nightmares played fresh in front of his eyes. He glanced at the Professor out of the corner of his eyes. The man was frowning, unhappy and sympathetic. Pity danced in his eyes. Tony hated it. He looked away sharply, closed his eyes and swallowed.

It took all his willpower to force the shaking in his limbs to fade, to pull a shroud over the fear that would be too obvious in his eyes. Tony rolled his shoulders and let his hands fall to his thighs in a pretence of drained emotion.

“I think that’s enough for today,” he declared, his voice steadier than he would have expected it to be.

“Yes, certainly,” Charles agreed swiftly, and truthfully, that meant something that Tony wasn’t prepared to deal with. “You did good Tony. You pulled yourself from your own nightmare. You knew it wasn’t real, and that’s a big step.”

Yes, logically Tony knew that, but with all the pain so fresh, his need for sleep suddenly didn’t matter anymore. He wouldn’t be getting of it tonight. He wonder if the Professor knew that, even for all his words.

“We’ll organise another session,” Charles told him, reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “You’re strong Tony. You can do this.”

Tony bit down on his retort, and faked a reassuring smile. “Of course I can, I’m Tony Stark,” he answered, and stood up sharply. He straightened the edge of his jacket, and continued, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mario waits for no mutant.”

He left with barely a wave over his shoulder. Erik waited outside, but Tony barely looked towards him as he walked past. He needed a few moments of weakness, of frowns and lumps in throat and digging nails into the palm of his hand; of touching the edges of the arc reactor and feeling the metal press back, and of grounding himself in this time and place. He wasn’t ready, by the time he’d reached the entertainment room, and forced a relaxed composure as he opened the door, dramatic and in declaring of his presence.

There were others there, waiting for him he assumed, and told them so just to see Ororo roll her eyes and hear Logan grumble. Jean pressed a kiss to his cheek in greeting, and Dahlia hugged him, tighter than she ever would have before. Scott nodded in his direction, and Piotr did a small salute. Kitty yelled loudly from the sofa, squashed between Pietro and Rogue, that Tony needed to get his arse in gear if he was going to play because she’d didn’t have all day. She ran him off the Rainbow Road. That meant she’d missed him.

Tony played the part he was supposed to play, and pretended he wasn’t screaming on the inside.

-

** STARK DENIES CLAIMS OF MUTATION **

**By Jessica Jewels**

_Last week, it was revealed through anonymous sources that Tony Stark has been keeping the fact that he is a mutant from the rest of the world. The story that the CEO of Stark Industries is actually a mutant broke a week after the man’s return from Afghanistan._

_Homo Superior, dubbed by professor of mutation Charles Xavier, is a branch of humans that has been in scrutiny since their reveal to the world in the 1940s. Since then, the United Nations and, specifically, the American Government have been in wild debate with public opinion and campaign groups. There have been many peaceful support groups, as well as terrorist attacks on American soil, in favour for and against the Mutant Registration Bill. An appropriate end has not been reached._

_With the new knowledge that someone as high profile as Tony Stark could possibly possess this ‘X gene’, the world has been left unsure of how to proceed._

_However, earlier today, Stark Industries released a rebuff to the claim. A spokesperson for Mr Stark read, “This is just a rumour. There is no proof of the fact. Mr Stark is a business man, and does not wish to take a side in such a political debate. He would, however, wished to point out that, should a mutation be something he or anyone else possessed, it is not the responsibility of another to announce it. This is something that the person alone decides to do, without any pressure from outside persons. He also says that, should anyone find themselves with the X gene that allows them to do more than the average person, that “they should seek proper attention to gain control, and find people like themselves. There are many homes that will take these persons in and see they are properly taken care of.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for **nightmares, ptsd and blood**. There's not a lot of it, only in a section towards the end, but I feel like it needs to be said just in case :)
> 
> Next Chapter will be posted by the 29th May.

**Author's Note:**

> I have tumblr: [@icarusuns](http://gladers.co.vu)


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